I’m turning 39 in a couple weeks, and it’s got me thinking about all I haven’t done. And all that I already AM.
Yesterday was a rare time away from the kids. I had a hair appointment scheduled at 4pm, and as it my religion, when the hair gets done, I do not go home afterwards. #dontwastethehair
So I scheduled a babysitter and my husband and I had planned on a date night.
(I do this or a girls’ night after every hair appointment. Schedule the babysitter as soon as you schedule with your stylist. I highly recommend it. Life’s too short. Let the world see that damn gorgeous hair. #YOLO)
Okay, getting to my point.
So before the hair salon, I got ready in my date night clothes, and sprayed some perfume.
After a long day with the kids, sweating at the park, making peanut butter and jellies and cleaning pee off toilet seats, there’s something about taking that gold bottle out of its basket in my closet and spraying my favorite scent that punctuates the end of Mommy time and the beginning of a few hours of “me” time.
It’s for me.
As I looked in the mirror before I walked out of my room, aside from confirming that I know no longer know how to dress myself unless it’s workout clothes or a swimsuit, my mind drifted to a memory.
Have you ever noticed that scents trigger vivid, pungent memories?
My mom when I was little.
Her tan, balmy skin, covered in the most beautiful moles and freckles.
Her thin wrists.
Her long, natural nails that she always painted in bed while she watched Golden Girls.
Her thick gold wedding ring that my fingers would turn around and around on her finger.
The sweet smell of sweat and her perfume.
My mom always wore a certain scent that was spicy and warm. It was one of those smells that left you wanting more. When she was next to me, I could sniff her all day.
That smell meant that I was safe and loved.
One of the things I always knew was that my mom loved being my mom.
Her eyes danced at seeing me wake up in the morning. She smiled when I got home from school. I never felt like a burden.
I know for a fact that the thrill of my mom’s life was raising me and my 3 siblings.
Sometimes I think back to her joy in mothering when I see sassy memes on social media or hear moms (including me) complain about their kids, their parenting, their household responsibilities.
Are we doing it all wrong?
Staying home was the biggest luxury of my mom’s life. She was honored to be a mother. She knew it was special.
And when I smelled her I knew I was special too.
That smell was a place.
My mom’s still with us, by the way.
But she looks and smells different now.
My mom in her late 30’s, when I was about 10, was a different place.
My mom was royalty. She was my queen. I adored her and wanted to be like her in every way. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever known. She lived out joy as a verb. She could do no wrong.
And so, as I stood in my mirror with my stanky hair, about to leave the house, it dawned on me.
To my children, I am that person. Right freaking now.
My smell, my touch, my chipped nails, my jewelry, my clothes, my habits.
Everything about me is sacred.
Because to my children, I am a place.
And it doesn’t matter if my thighs touch or my face looks tired.
(Did you notice that none of my memory of my mom had to do with weight or physical beauty?)
I am the place they feel safe when they have a bad dream.
I am the place they feel comforted after a long day at school.
I am the place they feel loved (hopefully) every single day.
I am turning 39 soon. And there is so much more in this world I want to do. I am not done. Like seriously, I feel I have barely scratched the surface. (Anyone else?)
But right now, I am also everything.
I am north, south, east and west. I am the glue. I am the center of their beautiful perfect universe. Just by me being here, my kids know that everything is okay.
Man that is so freaking powerful.
You are everything right now.
And that is bigger than any bucket list. Than any social media post. Than any body transformation or career accomplishment.
Being right here. Right now IS IT.
So go and live today as the sacred, irreplaceable Mother that you are. Your kids only have one. And you are a freaking goddess.
Have you ever thought back to the caregiver in your childhood and reflected on how crazy it is that you are that person to your little people now? Join the conversation on Facebook or Instagram, and thanks for being here.